Connecting with God through poetic articulations of lived, embodied experience–engaging texts from the Revised Common Lectionary for Christian churches, other biblical and spiritual texts, and evocations of the divine in rituals and other public events–always accepting lived reality as a primary source of divine revelation and mystery.

Reflection offered on January 1, 2017 at Metropolitan Community Church of Washington, D.C.

God gives us so much. With the psalmist we give thanks and praise, but the singer also knows we may not be all we think we are. What are human beings that God cares about us? Is it because we are created to be divine franchise agents, with everything at our feet–presumably God knew what She was doing, but polluted lakes and streams, endangered species, stripped-mine hillsides, fouled air, war, poverty, and group hates and ugly stories about those not like us, may create skepticism in parts of heaven not to mention earth.

There is a time for all that, of course, but so much more, or maybe less, I mean the simple ways of living in peace and hope and love and joy that God intends which could take up all our time if we accepted the gift of God: that all people should eat, drink, and enjoy the results of their hard work. It seems so simple, and it is, but not easy, never easy when every day in so may ways we are tempted by the siren calls of those who claim to have something better: building walls to keep people out, a bigger house or better car and internet to go faster, private schools to increase odds of Ivy League admissions, droning, bombing everyone who looks at us wrong, making sure there are enough guns to shoot every person, adult and child, at least once, and kill as many of them as necessary to keep stocks rising along with income gaps widening between rich and poor at home, even slowing the climb of other nations out of the rut of domination.

But its not too late. It is never too late with God–that is what makes God, God. She, or He, or They, refuse, despite ancient testimonies| to the contrary, to give up on us, you and me, too, and the others, even those whose agendas seem foreign and evil. No one is a hopeless case with God.

The divine calendar is not ours, so there has been only one new year, how many millions of years ago we do not know, and God is not counting, but this is the moment of our latest attempt at renewal, and in truth we can make the most of it—yes, with resolutions of self-improvement if we must, but even more powerfully by a simple, again not easy, commitment to listen to our individual and collective souls where rests and rises the voice and hope and love of God. And justice, too.

Let us not forget justice, divine justice which is not to punish or even chastise but to repair, heal, move us to change, to do differently, better than last time.Self-care is important, essential, but with God the we is as important as the I, and the test of fealty to our holy parent is how well we treat the rest of our human family, the ones God loves as much as God loves us, not more not less, often in different ways but still with an arm around all and each of us at all times, everywhere without end. World without end.

Don’t we know not to fear what is coming, because of what God has given, and continues to give, even when we don’t earn it? If we truly know and savor and trust what God has provided, can we not share in the bounty willingly, freely, joyously, generously, so that no one goes without, no child is hungry, no refugee is turned away from some safe place, no young Black men and trans women hunted and slaughtered on our streets, no body is without health care, no holy prayers cursed regardless what God or gods or heavens are invoked.

This is the year God is making, again, for us, with us, so let us rejoice and be glad in it, and show our gratitude by making this the Year of Our God and All God’s people, taking care of each human other and all the rest of Creation, too, finally rising to meet the divine challenge issued, earthly opportunity given, at dawn on the first new year long ago, to be Eden on earth again, and forever.

About this poem . . . . Two biblical readings without a real story presented a challenge for me, but I soon realized that the gratitude, reality, and hope present in them fit for today. This is of course the gift of Scripture, and indeed in some way or other all inspired writing (whether called “holy” or not). And as I finished the earliest draft, I remembered poem inspired by Judy Chicago’s famous art installation, The Dinner Party, with its evocation of Eden. God must keep hoping we shall yet understand, accept, and celebrate the gift of life caught in that ancient story.

Reflection in response to the 1st Sunday after Christmas, Year A

Refugees are people who flee to something less terrifying than continuing to stay where they are or what they see coming, often giving up what was once thought comfortable, pleasant, safe, now untenable due to violence already inflicted and/or more about to be dealt, threats feeling so real you grab your clothes and run, maybe a few pictures, a crust or two of bread, your children of course, like Mary and Joseph grabbed Jesus to escape to Egypt. This first-family-to-be ran for their lives in the face of Herod’s fear disguised as anger–tyrants, elected or not, everywhere the same–to return later–tyrants die although they want us to forget– to be replaced by a fearsome son–where have we heard that before– so again this family finds another new home, in Nazareth. That is Matthew’s story, and he’s sticking to it.

Luke starts the story with a Nazorean family forced to Bethlehem for the registration who then return to Nazareth to live and grow together in peace, love, and care. Either way, a ruler, whether Emperor or lackey-King, seems to control the earthly action. It is good for us to remember in days of turmoil that those who claim mandates to do as they wish, no matter the needs of those less powerful, do not in truth control everything or in some ways much of anything. Who cares today what Herod thought or even the august emperor, footnotes to history, necessary props in the story that turns out to be not about them at all, no matter how much they strut and preen and issue a thousand tweets like a flock of angry, self-absorbed starlings?

Isaiah and others knew all this so well– tales of people pushed about by despots from afar and often their own rulers, so that they lost their way– prophets seeing God present in all things, redeeming the people in divine love and pity even when they did not know it, or denied the very God who creates us all, of whom prophets told repeated truths and angels in every sort of form sang loud hosannas echoing across the skies of slumbering yet unsteady, at risk, earth.

When will we learn, really learn and understand, it is not tyrants, blowhards, insecure rulers and small-minded puppets pretending to pull strings of the rest of of us who matter, but God, the one who refuses to treat us with other than respect and love, whose gentle power is what really runs the show? Not a puppet master, not even a taskmaster or judge, but one whose desire for us, for us to live whole lives as we are given at birth, exceeds all negativity, all hate, all puny politics and war–that is The One whom we worship, The One who touched the babe in the manger and continues to touch us, too.

About this poem . . . . . The familiar, though often forgotten story, of Herod’s mad rampage on feeling tricked and scared by challenges to his rule, is the backdrop for Joseph and the family, as it really is even today as in the midst of wonders and joys in our lives, and even our private sorrows, we continue to contend with small-minded, petty oligarchs of politics, business, militarism, etc., just to survive. But history is not really about them, any more than daily life is.

Reflection on Nativity of the Lord, Year A

In those days a decree went out from Caesar Agustus that all the world should be registered, but did that include the shepherds? If so, what were they doing in the fields? Waiting for the angels? Are you waiting, too? Or has the story become so worn, predictable, that it no longer sends shudders down your spine, as it did when angels shone in the sky, proclaiming the best news of that, and our, time. ‘Tis the season of outcasts, and none were more scorned than shepherds—so of course angels appeared to them, not magistrates or merchants or certainly kings. Indeed, the story of Christmas is about the lowly, not just Mary but Joseph too and all the rest of Israel under the heel of Rome and those on the margins of the marginalized.

But it is not only that angels appeared to shepherds, God doing what God does so often—appearing to, speaking with, the powerless not the powerful— but that shepherds became angels themselves, testifying for and to those gathered in the stable, agents of the Holy One to the world. Is not that our call as well, to witness to the grace, truth and love of God wherever we are—hillsides, homes, small towns, big cities, churches and temples, family dinners, public places, casual conversations, anywhere we hear good news that needs to be shared with a world hungry for more than increasing stock prices, celebrity misbehaviors and divorces, political tweeting, and mad attacks on shoppers and students.

Shepherds in the church are expected to be calm, perhaps even quiet, always kind and gentle, and it is good when they do not yell or condemn, but to get excited, to be eager, is what we need, and God wants, to share love and hope and joy and peace, too, with strong voices , heartfelt expressions, souls bursting with deep truths of divinely inspired lives. Not sure what to say? Maybe we can venture to nearby hillsides or other quiet places under the stars and wait, like shepherds, for the angels on their way— there are always angels, God makes sure of that— the question is, for us, will the shepherds show up again?